Where You Felt Safe
by R.S.Lynn
Summary: He was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about his best friend this way. But when she swayed her hips back and forth, it drove him crazy. Rogan AU
1. Prologue

Summary: He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be thinking about his best friend this way

**Summary: He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be thinking about his best friend this way. But when she swayed her hips back and forth, it drove him crazy. When she threw back her head when she laughed, he imagined his lips on her long neck. Worst of all was when she threw her arms around him, engulfing him in a crushing hug—that's when he knew he was gone. **

**Rating: Eventual M**

**POV: Third person with the feelings from both Rory and Logan**

**Background information: For the sake of this story, Rory grew up in high society—it just makes the most sense, since she and Logan have been best friends forever. This story takes place during the same time frame of season five. Logan is only one year older than Rory… he went on the Yacht trip with Colin and Finn. He left Steph and Rory—who are a year younger. Currently, everyone is in their second year of Yale. As the story unfolds, you'll gain more information. **

**Author's Note: So, I'm posting the first chapter of "Where You Felt Safe." I want to thank everyone who helped with giving me ideas… I took reviews, PMs, and my own discretion into consideration. The title of this story is a lyric from the song "That's Okay," by The Hush Sound. The name of the chapter is a lyric in the Hush Sound song "Honey."**

**Official Disclaimer: Nobody likes an egotist who claims to have done all of these wonderful things, while, in reality, they're just lame. I'm not like that—I'm just lame. But I digress, I don't own Gilmore Girls… juts the laptop on my lap… which may or may not be mine.**

**Where You Felt Safe**

**Prologue**

He wished someone had told him—a simple phone call is all it would have took. Then he would have been prepared, ready, for the sight before him. If someone had had the guts to just tell him, he wouldn't be where he was right now. He wouldn't be sitting on a barstool, watching angrily as she talked to other guys, as she flitted around gracefully, enchanting everyone she spoke to—in fact, he was pretty sure the guys in the room weren't that interested in what she had to _say_. That's the only reason he agreed to come, or at least, that's what he was claiming if anyone asked. He was here to protect her—in a big brother way—from the massive crowd of creeps thinking of ways to get into her pants.

This was Emily's doing—the Male-Yale party currently circulating around them—the frenzy of horny, early-twenty-year-old boys. He commemorated her for her craftiness, but loathed her at the same time. This was a product of Rory's recent single-status, since she recently broke off her relationship with one Tristan Dugrey after what seemed like an eternity of an off-and-on again game. This time it seemed permanent—all contact had been cut off for the entire summer. They were now in the first week of the new school year, and to Emily, it seemed like the perfect time to make her mark.

But Emily meddling in Rory's love life wasn't what was bothering him right now, that was hardly new. It was something that happened a week ago—something that someone should have warned him about. He didn't like surprises, he never had. So, when he saw her that night at the pub—celebrating his, Colin, and Finn's triumphant return from sailing the world for a year—it had thrown him through a loop. He walked in, expecting to see Rory Hayden, his best friend, not Rory Hayden… for lack of a better word… "hot babe."

He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be thinking about his best friend this way, not Rory, not his innocent Rory. But he couldn't help but be attracted to her that night… and ever since then. He had left her in tenth grade for boarding school—he'd left her gangly and awkward. Sure, he'd continued constant correspondence with her throughout the years, she remained his closet friend—the one person he could rely on and tell anything to. But when he walked in and saw the backside and gorgeous pair of legs belonging to some chick with wavy, brunette hair… he found himself getting turned on, simultaneously thinking about her legs wrapped around his waist. When she turned around, and he found himself face-to-face with her angelic face and stunning blue eyes, he felt his body grow rigid, and not just his torso. When she swayed her hips back and forth, it drove him crazy. When she threw back her head when she laughed, he imagined his lips on her long neck. Worst of all was when she threw her arms around him, engulfing him in a crushing hug—that's when he knew he was gone.

Every touch made him feel awkward. Every word she uttered made his heart flip… and what was worse was that he wasn't sure he wanted it to go away.

He wondered why now. He wondered why her.

She looked over at him, spotting him for the first time, and smiled. He returned a weak one and immediately felt guilty for his thoughts. She trusted him; he was supposed to protect her. He turned around and ordered another drink from the bar. He needed to drown out the thoughts of her naked.


	2. The Boys I Mean Are Not Refined

Author's Note: So, here's the next, technically first, chapter

**Author's Note: So, here's the next, technically first, chapter. I have about eleven chapters planned out right now... then I get stuck. Oh, for those who don't understand the prologue thing... it fits into the story at a later date–I guess I should have called it prelude. So, to clarify, THIS is actually where the story begins...  
Disclaimer: I do not own, I don't pretend to. The chapter's quote and title is from a wonderful poet, e. e. cummings.**

**Enjoy.**

**Chapter 1**

**The Boys I Mean Are Not Refined**

_**"...They speak whatever's on their mind--they do whatever's in their pants. The boys I mean are not refined..."- e.e. cummings**_

The light from the flames lapped up against his stoic, worried face as he sat on a log across from the dangerous bonfire. The air from the night was cool, despite his current tropical location–somewhere off the coast of Fiji. He buried his feet under the flaky sand as his brain whirred from the possible scenarios his father was going to torture him under. This was all _Finn's_ fault. That much was obvious, but he knew his father would not take his best friend's midnight steering excursion, which lead to the ultimate demise of their precious Yacht as a viable excuse. Yes, Logan should have known better–he should have handcuffed that Australian nuisance to his bed the first night they got there. Actually, Logan was surprised they had gone almost an entire year without having any major accidents. He knew he greatly exceeded expectations. He just wished he hadn't rescued his idiotic friend from that volcanic rock he had gotten stranded on only two months before the sunken ship incident.

Now, instead of sleeping comfortably on their cushy yacht, they were stuck on some resort island, renting a condo until Logan's father got sick of making angry, unanswered phone calls and bothered to track him down. Logan leaned down to his feet and picked up a bottle of whiskey one of the local beach-bunnies had swiped from him. He took a long swig and winced as the burning liquid bombarded his salt-watered, dry throat. He was so sick of beach, sand, and salty air. All he wanted to do was go home and get ready to go back to the IVY-covered stone buildings of his college, Yale. Never had he thought that he'd miss Yale so much... or the people connected to it. What was delaying his return was the fear of this father's impeding wrath–he was such a coward. That Aussie better not come near him.

He craned his neck and spotted the unruly hair of his idiotic friend whom was his current antagonist. He had had enough of Finn for a year and he had been looking forward to a little break from their close quarters. Colin was beginning to wear on his nerves as well. Always the know-it-all, Colin had insisted on playing cruise director for the entire trip. Logan quickly looked down as Colin caught his eye. He looked up again and noticed that he had recruited Finn, and they were currently headed his way. _Fuck_, couldn't he have a little peace and quite for ten minutes?

"You look incredibly depressing in this little alcove of yours," Colin informed him with a cheeky grin.

Finn stood above him, arms crossed, smiling slightly. Logan wanted to strangle his gangly, little neck. But, instead, he picked up a piece of debris and prodded the logs in the fire gently. Colin and Finn exchanged rolled eyes. "Oh, sod off, Mate. I said I was sorry! I was so pissed I couldn't even see straight!"  
Logan glared at his cohort and practically growled in response. "I would like to see you deal with Mitchum Huntzberger." Both of his friends recoiled from the mere thought. "That's what I thought."

Colin remained stubbornly in front of him, not moving in his stance. "That's no reason to wallow now. Sure, you'll soon be in a world of hurt, but right now, I happen to know that there's a pretty girl over there," he motioned back to where he and Finn had previously been frolicking, "who's _very_ interested in your company for tonight."

Despite his previous determination to mope around for the rest of the trip, Logan couldn't help but crane his neck over to the other side of the beach. A tan girl with almost black brunette hair waved seductively at him. He always was a sucker for brunettes—quite the contrast to Colin and Finn's taste. She was clad only in a skimpy, pink bikini top and a par of very short shorts. Internally, he fought between being stubborn in his silent brooding… or having one more fling during his epic trip, which was about to end. He'd been on the boat non-stop now for almost a week, and his body was currently reminding him of that. He decided to drop his angry charade and got up. He sighed in content and brushed the sand off his hands. "'Scuse me, boys," he said, smirking as he made his way towards his latest conquest.

"There's our boy!" Finn cried, pretending to wipe a tear from his tanned face. Colin snickered deviously, having gotten his way.

Logan ignored their catcalls and traveled on route to his destination. His confidence grew as he neared the girl and noticed her smile bashfully at him. She held a drink gingerly in her hand and swirled the contents absent-mindedly with her straw. She was standing by the tiki-style bar where everyone else seemed to flock to. Logan leaned up against the bamboo counter, noticing that it was fake bamboo. He turned towards the girl and plastered on his trademark smirk—laying the charm on thick. From experience, he'd learned that forgoing smarmy comments only prolonged actual conversation with his target—as misogynistic as that sounded. He didn't care—they were using him in the same way. "Hi," he called over the din of the crowd and music, "I'm Logan."

She smiled sweetly at him and he could swear he saw her push out her chest. "I know," she admitted, "I'm Megan." She took a sip from her drink, not breaking eye contact with him.

Logan inched towards her, eliminating the little space that was between them. He traced his finger down the length of her forearm. "I don't care."

Her eyes grew wide and she shivered from his touch and comment. Logan's smirk broadened noticing her brown eyes dilate appreciatively. This was going to be too easy.

--

After about twenty minutes of shameless flirting, innuendos, and not-so-supple touching, Logan decided it was time to put an end to the teasing. He took the drink out of her hands—without receiving a protest from her—and laced his fingers with hers. He pulled her away from the crowd, away from the prying eyes of his friends, and towards his small, temporary condo only feet away. He quickened his pace and all but threw her through the door as they reached the entrance.

As soon as the glass and screen door was shut behind them, he pushed her up against it, and attached his lips on hers—practically knocking the wind out of her and making all of the blood rush from his head to…. lower parts of his body. As soon as her mind wrapped around what they were doing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and responded enthusiastically to his assaults. Logan ran his hands up and down the length of her warm, bare body, relishing in the heat and the sensations it evoked. He found himself nibbling on her plump, swollen lower lip—begging for entrance. Without a second thought, she granted him access to his mouth, and he successfully slipped his tongue in.

She tasted sweet—probably because of whatever drink she had poured down her throat—the flavor made him press his body flush against hers, effectively crushing her against the door. She whimpered in appreciation and writhed underneath his body. This caused him to moan from her movement into her mouth. He was officially hot and bothered beyond belief. He lowered his hands from her mid back to the globe of her ass and squeezed through the material of her white shorts—bringing her hips, which seemed impossible—even closer to his. She squealed in delight and he smirked against her mouth.

Obviously wanting more, she pulled back slightly to take his white tee-shirt off his hard body. She threw it to the side and reconnected with his body, resuming with a new fervor due to their skin-on-skin touch. Following her lead of removing more clothing, Logan moved his hands down to the button on her shorts and popped it open with a simple flick of his wrist. He slowly moved the material off her long, tan legs, and helped her step out of them when they reached the floor. He kicked them out of their way when they were detached from her body, and he moved towards her again—this time lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he pressed her against the door again. He kissed her lips once, and then made his way down her neck with a feather light touch, pausing to worship the pulse point at the base. He sucked and laved her skin with his tongue—feeling her heart rate race from the adrenaline undoubtedly surging throughout both of their bodies as if their connection was a circuit.

Through his haze, he could tell she was distracted. He looked over at her face, and noticed that she was looking off to the side—her brow kneaded in concern. Logan mimicked her worried face and stopped his ministrations momentarily when he heard the dull roar of a helicopter—no doubt close by. It felt like his heart stopped beating as he waited, anxiety building with every whir of the helicopter. He strained his ear for further noise outside, but all he could hear was the lame island music and the noisy aircraft. Suddenly, he heard the helicopter noise stop, and he let out a huge sigh of relief—he was too paranoid for his own good. He looked back at the beautiful girl in his arms and smiled wearily at her. She was looking at him in utter confusion—trying to figure out what had caused his minor freak out. "Sorry about that."

She smiled back and crashed her lips onto his once again. He pressed her up against the door once more and hugged her close to his body. He closed his eyes and chuckled throatily, but he furrowed his brow, recognizing that the laugh was too low and seemed to echo in stereo. For the second time that night, his entire body froze and his eyes shot open.

On the other side of the combined glass and screen door, was a face that seemed too menacing to be real. He was smiling wickedly at him in amusement. Logan screamed in surprise and bounced away from the door, dropping the girl onto the floor, and tripping over her limps himself. Ignoring the dull ache in his arms, he strained to get up as the figure opened the door, letting himself in.

The figure flicked the lights on, illuminating the room. Logan winced as he saw the now aggravated look on his father's face. "Get your ass up, boy," he commanded in an angry tone.

Feeling like a child, Logan slowly got up from his spot, and shot an apologetic look to the now cowering girl slumped in a pile on the floor. Logan sighed, realizing the jig was up. "Fuck," he muttered.

Mitchum gritted his teeth together and grasped Logan by the arm and yanked him towards the door. Always the gentleman, he tipped an imaginary hat in the direction of the poor girl before they left and her worried face immediately relaxed. His father tightened his hold on Logan's arm and dragged him out of the house and back onto the beach scene he had abandoned earlier. In his wake, Mitchum had managed to completely break up the party with his arrival.

Logan spotted his father's giant, corporate helicopter off in the distance. He saw that Colin and Finn were already safely inside and Finn was waving enthusiastically at him. Logan locked his jaw in frustration. "I can't believe I had to come all the way down here to GET you!" Mitchum roared. Logan grumbled as his father's grip began to sting. "But you know, you left me no choice—you wouldn't answer MY calls, you'd only answer your sister's. Do you know what I had to buy her to get her to tell me where you are?" Logan knew the question was rhetorical so he kept his mouth shut. He knew what he had to do when he got back—kill Honor. His father continued as they neared the chopper. "As if it wasn't bad enough that you SUNK the yacht, but then you decide to continue partying—continuing to act like an irresponsible child—do you have ANY idea what the date is?" Logan paused at that—he honestly had no idea what the date was.

His father pushed him towards the side entrance of chopper and made his way to the passenger's side. Logan gripped the sides of the door and hoisted him up into the black aircraft. Finn smiled hesitantly at him and Logan gave him an icy stare. The door slammed behind him, imprisoning him inside. Logan closed his eyes as he heard the pilot get into the helicopter and start up the blades. His father plunged into and eerie silence—thankfully. Feelings slightly skittish, Logan remained rigid in his seat—preparing for take off.

"So," Finn started, trying to break the awkward silence, "how'd it go with the Sheila?" Logan's eyes snapped open in time to see Colin punch Finn hard enough in the arm to leave a bruised. "OY! I. WAS. NOT. ASKING. YOU!" the Australian roared, nursing the pain in his arm. Satisfied with his discomfort, Logan re-closed his eyes and felt his stomach lurch as the helicopter rose in the air slowly. Suddenly, he missed the salty air and the white sand that he had been taking for granted less than an hour ago. Anywhere was better than where he was now.

--

There was a buzzing sound, and it was coming somewhere from her left. She groaned in protest and covered her head with her plush, navy blue pillow. She released her head when it registered that it was not her alarm clock, but her phone that was making the offending noise. She blindly reached her hand out over to her nightstand to grab her cell. Without looking at the caller ID, she flipped the phone open. "…Hello?" she answered in a groggy tone.

"Jeez, Ace, don't seem TOO happy to talk to me."

At the sound of his voice, Rory quickly sat up in her bed—instantly more awake. "Logan?" she asked, unsure if it was actually him on the other line or if her mind was playing tricks on her. She hadn't heard from the blond for at least two months and she was beginning to think that he was some kind of imaginary friend from her childhood. "Where are you?"

He chuckled, which sent chills under her skin. "Actually, I'm in New York." He paused, obviously for her reaction.

Rory's mouth gaped open in surprise. "As in US New York—you're actually on the same continent as me?" She couldn't help but let a smile crawl across her face from excitement.

"I'm not sure where there's another New York, but yes, and I'm less than an hour away from you."

Rory squealed in delight, which only served to wake up the sleeping blonde sharing a bed with her. They turned over and glared at her with weary eyes. She smiled apologetically and then reverted her attention back to the person on the phone. "So, you're actually going to show up at Yale this semester," she deduced, wily

"That's the plan," he relented.

Rory scoffed. "As memory serves, that was the plan last year, too. As memory serves you were SUPPOSED to only have your yacht trip last the summer, but that didn't happen, did it?"

Rory laughed when she heard Logan wince on the other line. "Your memory serves you correctly, however, due to the invasion of one Mitchum Huntzberger, we didn't exactly have a choice."

Rory gasped. "So, this triumphant return has nothing to do with the fact that you will see me again, your best friend, who you actually haven't laid eyes on since the tenth grade when you ABANDONED me to go to a European boarding school and continued to abandon by refusing to come home for breaks?"

She waited for a reply, and got a short laugh. "Ha, no, sorry, it's just because daddy dearest dragged my sorry ass back from Fiji via chopper."

Rory giggled. "Wait, he actually came there HIMSELF?"

"In the flesh."

"That sounds…"

"Horrifying, humiliating, hugely scarring?"

"I was going to say fantastic, but thanks for the options," she teased.

"I'm glad I could be of service. Now, are you already at Yale?"

Rory nodded her head, but stupidly realized that he couldn't see her. "Yeah, I moved back in last night. Steph is here, too, if you want me to wake her up."

"Nah, I'll see her later, I'm content with just talking to you for now."

"Oh, I'm glad I'm good enough for you," she spat sarcastically.

"Always twisting my words, now, the reason I was asking was because I thought you, me, Steph, and the gang could get together tonight at Old Man's Shoe. Do you know where that is?"

Rory snorted. "Of course I know where that is, I go to school here—just as long as you and more recently than you, too."

"No need to get defensive, Ace, you just don't seem like a pub person if MY memory serves."

Rory bit her lip. His memory wasn't completely up-to-date, many things had changed since his departure years ago. "Well, despite my studious ways, Steph has managed to drag me out of my cave every once in a while."

"Steph has a way with persuasion…"

Rory's lips tightened. "That she does."

"Well, perhaps it'll be a good thing that I took an unexpected year off, because _now_ we'll be in the same year."

Rory rolled her eyes. "I don't exactly see that as a good thing."

"Why not, we can help each other with our homework."

"Ah, yeah, I'm not letting you copy assignments, Logan."

"Drat, I was hoping to use you for your brain…. as well as your body," he joked.

Rory tensed noticeably. It was a joke, but she had never been good with the subtle flirting stuff with Logan. It was too awkward, and not just because he saw her as a sister. "Well… too bad for you…" she laughed uneasily, but it went unnoticed by him.

"So, I'll see you tonight at… nine?"

Rory shrugged, glad that the uncomfortable innuendos were finished until probably later tonight—that's how Logan was. "Sure, I can't wait to see Colin again and meet the illusive Mr. Finnegan Rothschild." She smiled remembering her other childhood friend and the virtual stranger that had wormed his way into their group.

"I wouldn't be so excited about Finn," he warned.

Rory laughed. "Okay, well, I'm going to go back to sleep, because it's only eight, and I haven't had any coffee."

"Oh, did I wake you?"

Rory sighed; she couldn't believe that he was the son of a World famous reporter. "Yes, that's what people tend to do during mornings such as this."

"Ah, sorry, my internal clock is still off and I didn't realize the time."

"Well, just fix it before tonight so you actually show up on time."

"Even with the adjustments, that's highly unlikely," he quipped.

"Ah," Rory relented, "one can only dream."

He laughed lightly. "Later, Ace."

"Later." She pressed the 'end' button on her cell and placed it back on the nightstand. She felt the eyes of the blonde next to her baring into the side of her face in annoyance. "What?"

Steph sighed and flopped dramatically down on the pillow beneath her. "I'm just glad you have Tristan out of the way, now you and Logan can finally do each other and get it over with."

Rory tried to ignored the flip her heart made at the mention of her recently ex-boyfriend. "That's disgusting, Steph, Logan's like a brother to me."

Steph quirked an eyebrow up at her blatant lie. "Oh, yeah, that's why you've harbored an annoyingly, huge crush over him since the eighth grade. Sorry, Rory, I know you're an only child, but that's not how you're supposed to feel about a sibling."

Her words were dripping with bitter sarcasm—it made Rory blush crimson. "I, er…"

Steph rolled her eyes at her friend's naivety. "So, I say bone him, get it out of your systems."

Rory cringed at her crassness and whacked a pillow over her head. Steph gasped and cursed. "First," Rory said, sitting up on her knees, bouncing slightly on the bed, and holding up her right index finger for emphasis, "whatever strange, childish feelings I once had for Logan have dissipated. I'm not the same fifteen year-old girl who would get all tongue-tied around him."

Steph smiled like the Cheshire Cat, "_Really_?" Her tone gave away her disbelief.

Rory whacked her again with the pillow. "_Second_," she emphasized, "even if I didn't have brotherly feelings towards him, he only have sisterly feelings towards me, you _know_ that." Steph pursed her lips, knowing that was true—the crush had been one-sided—sad, in her opinion, "because to _Logan_, I'll always be the gangly, little girl who ran around his backyard naked and played pirates with him."

Steph laughed, remembering her participation in the events. "Yeah, I also remember you guys playing house and he'd only let _you_ be his wife. Not me, I had to marry _Colin_!" Steph made a disgusted face.

Rory rolled her eyes and got out of the bed. "I'm walking away from you."

"What?!" Steph called from the bed, "You're just going to leave me in bed?"

"You're only there because you couldn't get up after our movie night after all of the junk food you stuffed down your throat!" she called from the kitchen, knowing that the comments on her food consumption would get to her.

Surely enough, Steph gasped audibly and bolted out of the bedroom after Rory.

"I did NOT eat that much!"

Rory smiled coyly. "You ate more than I did."

Steph practically growled at the insinuation. "That's an impossible feat."

"And yet, you did." They exchanged heated glares, which only dissipated after their landline began to ring. "Ugh, I do NOT want to deal with any more people before coffee." She ignored the phone and walked over to the counter, getting her precious coffee maker ready for the morning. Instead, Steph walked over to the offending machine to answer it. Rory looked over at her and noticed that she paused, staring at the called ID. "Who is it?" she asked curiously.

Instead of answering her, the machine picked up the call. "_Rory, hey, it's Tristan_," Rory froze and waited for him to continue. She heard him take a deep breath, so she walked over next to Steph and crossed her arms. Steph moved her eyes to the ground. "_I know you're probably asleep… or standing next to Stephanie, screening your calls_." Rory and Steph exchanged glances quickly. "_Anyway, I know this is awkward, but… you still have a bunch of my stuff._" Steph scoffed, annoyed at the reason for his call. Rory remained quiet. "_I was wondering if you could maybe mail my stuff to me… since you probably don't want to see me_."

Steph seared with anger and put her hands on her hips, defensively. "You got THAT right," she yelled at the machine.

Rory shushed her, straining her ear to hear the rest of the phone call. "_So, anyway, call me…. Bye_." Click.

Rory sighed, pretending to ignore the phone call as she resumed what she was doing. What had she been expecting him to say? That he was sorry? She knew him better than to think that he'd actually get over his pride. He had cheated on her—she had caught him at the beginning of the summer, after she had stayed faithful to him the entire school year they were apart. The stupid thing was that, apparently, he had been cheating on her with this girl the entire school year. She broke up with him on the spot, which really wasn't much of a triumph since, according to a reliable source—Emily Gilmore—he was still dating that 'Vicious Trollop.' Her grandmother's words, not hers—she had some more colorful nicknames for Tristan's current girlfriend.

"Rory?" Steph said, approaching her from behind carefully.

"Hmm?" Rory asked, waiting for her coffee to brew.

"Can I kick him really hard?" Rory shrugged, still not making eye contact with her blonde cohort. She waited for Steph to say something else, knowing that the girl ALWAYS had something else to say—it was just part of her prying nature. "What stuff of his do you have?" Bingo.

Rory finally turned around, sighed, and ran a hand through her bed-head hair. "I'm not sure. I definitely don't have anything of his here. Anything I have is back at my parent's house."

She and Steph both smiled wickedly at that. "So, if he wants anything, he'll have to endure the wrath of Christopher Hayden?" Steph inquired.

Rory nodded, pouring herself a mug of now-ready coffee. "Or Lorelai Gilmore-Hayden."

Steph practically squealed in delight in the torture that Tristan would have to endure to get his precious stuff back. "The nerve of him," she fumed.

Rory took a sip of her coffee and shrugged again, feigning apathy. "What's done is done."

Steph looked at her quizzically. "Why are you so cool with this?"

Rory's mouth twitched slightly. "I just am." Steph continued to stare at her, as if trying to figure out what she was really feeling—that in reality, Tristan's call had really rattled her, and just the sound of his voice made her want to crawl back into her bed and eat her weight in Bon-bons. Not because she missed him—God, she was too pissed to get past her own bitterness—but because she felt deceived and stupid for believing that her horny, ex-boyfriend could ACTUALLY keep it in his pants for her.

Steph gave up trying to analyze Rory's action and began raiding their fridge for some Breakfast. Choosing her moment, Rory walked over to the answering and pressed a big, red button. "_Messages deleted_," echoed the robotic voice.

**Author's Note: The hills are alive with the sound of reviews!! Please leave your opinions. Sorry for the creepy Logan + random girl sexy thing-y…. there isn't going to be much of that. :D **


	3. I Remember Walking Up to You

Author's Note: And this is the new chapter—enjoy

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, guys. I've decided I'm JUST going to work on this story—for now. As in, it's my main priority and "Momentum" is my second. And this is the new chapter—enjoy. The title and quote for the chapter is from a Yo La Tengo song called "Our Way to Fall."  
**

**Chapter 2**

**I Remember Walking Up To You**

"_**I remember a summer's day, I remember walking up to you. I remember my face turned red, and I remember staring at my feet."—Yo La Tengo**_

Rory turned to the side, looking in the mirror at herself, appraising her outfit—slightly hesitating at going out with her current results. She closed her eyes and slumped down in the chair by her mirror, leaning forward to cradle her head in her hands so she could think. She rubbed her weary face, realizing quickly that she was probably smudging her eyeliner. Her eyes opened quickly and snapped to her fingers, where, sure enough, black marks lingered in an ugly manner. She glowered and stood up from her seat towards the exit of her room so she could make her way to the bathroom to wash her hands and reapply her eye makeup.

She passed by Steph, who had been ready for almost a half an hour, watching TV on their plushy couch. She narrowed her eyes as Rory appeared in the room. As Rory tried to rush by without Steph noticing her too much, Steph let out a low whistle. "Wow, Rory, Logan's going to like that."

Rory looked down at her outfit—she was wearing a plain, navy blue sundress, which ended just above her knees, clung to her figure tightly, had spaghetti straps, and revealed a modest amount cleavage. She decided to ignore her friend and made her way to the bathroom. Alas, Steph followed behind her, silently. Rory turned on the faucet, cupped her hands under the water, allowed them to fill and splashed the cool liquid over her face—washing off her smudged makeup. When she looked up, Steph was staring back in the mirror at her. Rory jumped in surprise. "Jeez, Steph, make a sound."

"You're going to put on eyeliner again, right? I think Logan would like that better." She smiled smugly as Rory turned around to berate her. "Before you say anything, I'd just like to point out that you're dressed up more than you'd usually be."

Rory rolled her eyes at her presumptuous friend. "Steph, drop it, it's not funny."

Steph looked at her innocently. "I'm not trying to be funny; I'm just trying to ignite true love." She looked off into the distance, lovingly, in a mocking manner.

Rory ignored her and leaned forward towards the mirror as she reapplied her eye makeup. "You have an overactive imagination."

Steph scoffed. "I do not, and if this rather scrumptious ensemble isn't to impress Logan, why are you wearing it—to impress Colin?" She made a face at the thought.

Rory turned to her with fire in her eyes, feeling like her friend's joke had been going on forever. "A, I'm not trying to impress anyone. B, you're more scantily clad than I am, perhaps _you're_ the one trying to impress someone."

Steph barked a laugh. "Who am I trying to impress?"

Rory shrugged and began to apply lip-gloss to her lips. "Colin perhaps?" She pursed her lips, waiting for her reaction.

Steph gawked at Rory, open-mouthed, obviously incredulous when the tables were turned, and the accusations were being thrown at her. Rory smirked smugly. "Ew, Rory, Colin?" Rory nodded slowly. "With the sweater vests and the non-funny jokes."

Rory grinned, pleased that she was able to rile up her friend, "I've heard you laugh at a few of those lame jokes."

Steph let out an inelegant snort and rolled her eyes. "That's because I don't feel like nursing a bruised ego… he's really Hell-bent on being funny."

Rory gave her an all-knowing look that showed that she didn't believe her. "I'm just saying…"

"What makes you think _that_?" she asked, insulted.

"I don't know," Rory teased.

Steph growled. "No, please enlighten me."

"Well…" Rory droned, "you're always insulting him, taking digs at him, but despite that—you're always _talking_ about him." She smiled as she watched Steph frown, deep in thought. "It's all very school yard-ish."

That snapped Steph out of her train of thought. She shook her head and turned towards the exit of the bathroom. "You're crazy," she mumbled. Rory laughed loudly, happy that she had won the argument and, perhaps, had deferred Steph from bringing up the prospect of her and Logan together.

She looked back at herself in the mirror and ran a hand through her silky curls. Who _was_ she trying to impress? Though she wanted to look nice when she saw Logan, she knew that it wasn't _for_ Logan. She stood in front of the sink for a minute, contemplating the reasoning behind getting gussied up, and decided to follow Steph out of the room—with a new thought in mind. Steph was sitting at the island in their en suite kitchenette, sulking at Rory's insinuations. "You know," Steph looked up at her with a scowl firmly in place, "I've decided something." Steph merely grunted in response. "No, listen," she sat down on the stool next to her, and Steph propped her self up by resting her chin on the palm of her hand, "I've decided that, it's a new year, I'm single for the first time since, what, eighth grade?" Steph nodded, her sourness dissolving into a state of interest. "I think it's time for me to have fun, and _not_," she deliberately looked Steph in the eye so she could tell that she was serious, "worry about any relationship woes—past or present."

Steph allowed a coy smile to spread over her face. "Meaning…" She sat on the edge of her seat, waiting to hear Rory vocalize the connotations that she picked up on from her previous statement.

"Meaning, I'm going to 'play the field.'"

Steph shot up like a bottle rocket and squealed in delight. "Yippy, I can be your wingman—er, wing-girl. Either way, I'm going to help you get laid… and vice-versa."

Rory felt her throat go dry, instantly nervous at the prospect of sleeping with strangers. She shook her head. "I'm not sure if I'll go that far… quite yet…"

Steph waved her off. "Whatever, at least now I have someone to go barhopping with on a regular basis. It should be easier to get you to go out now that you're a single lady, out on a night on the town." She clapped in excitement.

Rory laughed at her enthusiasm. "That's right—Tristan who?"

Steph pouted and shook her head. "I don't know anybody by that name."

Rory looked off to the side and waved at an imaginary person. "Goodbye, Tristan Dugrey—"

"—Hello, Logan Huntzberger," her peppy friend finished for her. Rory frowned, annoyed for the umpteenth time that day. She turned towards her and put her hands on her hips in indignation. Steph simply smiled sweetly at her scowl.

"COLIN!" Rory barked, effectively making Steph scrunch up her face in disgust.

--

Logan looked out of the window down on the dozens of people and vehicles scurrying around on the New York City street below him. He felt antsy watching them, and longed to join them on the street. Well, not _them_, but he definitely wanted to get out of his father's office. He had practically been confined here ever since his dad dragged him home from Fiji almost a week ago. He was supposed to stay another day before he went back to Yale for his second year, but he never did like to comply with his father's wishes. Now, he was ready to make his grand escape, which he had to do quickly since his father just left to go use the restroom.

He briskly walked towards the exit and entered the receptionist area. He walked past his father's leggy, blonde secretary, hoping that if he strolled by quickly and with purpose, she wouldn't think twice about it.

"Excuse me, Mr. Huntzberger, where do you think you're going?" she asked in her thick, British accent.

Logan cringed, having his half-assed plan foiled. He shrugged, feigning innocence to the woman who couldn't have been four years older than he was. Yet, she was his unofficial babysitter for the week. "I'm just getting some air."

She raised her eyebrows and lowered her trendy glasses down to the tip of her nose, not believing his generic story. "Your father has asked me to keep you in his office. He still has some things that he needs to discuss with you."

Logan rolled his eyes, realizing that she was probably sleeping with his father, so she wanted to keep him happy at all costs. He walked over to her desk and leaned against it, bracing his arms on the surface, so he was close enough so he could whisper and she could hear him. "Listen." She blinked at his close proximity, obviously feeling uncomfortable. She fidgeted unnervingly with the tight bun on the top of her head. He plastered on his infamous smirk, feeling her squirm under his scrutiny. She was very attractive—at least once she let down her hair and shed the busy body exterior. And if he didn't already know that she was fooling around with his father—blech—he might have considered convincing her to let him leave in an entirely different way. But right now he was in a hurry… and he didn't feel like delving into something that was borderline incest. She looked up at him, expecting him to continue. "I have plans tonight with a very dear friend of mine and she wouldn't like it if I were extremely late." Her eyes narrowed at the mention of 'she.' "Besides, making my dad mad is just a plus that I just can't pass up."

She leaned back in her chair—effectively gaining distance from him, and crossed her arms over her chest. She shook her head and shot him a disapproving glare. "Your father left it up to me to keep you inside his office while he was gone. I'm not going to jeopardize my job, so you can get your daily dose of rebellion."

Logan was just about to argue when he saw a bunch of people coming towards the glass door of the reception area. His smirked broadened and he nodded at her. "Okay," He looked down at the faux, gold nameplate on her desk. "Dina, I'll just go back into my dad's office. I wouldn't want you to get into any trouble. He winked at her and started walking backwards to his dad's office.

She looked at him strangely, but was quickly distracted by the amount of people who entered the office. "Oh," she told the many invaders, "okay, everyone get in a line, please, Mr. Huntzberger will be back in a moment."

Logan took her flustered moment as an opportunity to slip back into the receptionist area, fling his worn, leather jacket over his shoulder, and blend in with the crowd as he made his way towards the glass doors. He casually walked over towards the elaborate elevators, smirked at the people watching him leave, and tipped an imaginary hat at them as the double doors closed with a ding on the escapee. As he reached the lobby and strolled through the busy entrance, he could swear he heard his father's scream.

Logan's smile crept across his entire face, reaching his eyes, as he practically skipped through the streets of New York. He walked to the corner and put his hand in the air, trying to hail a taxi. At this rate, he would be hours early for his meeting with his Ace at the pub. Just as he finally got a taxi, his head turned as a girl with long, brown hair, and long legs walked past him—reverting her eyes to the ground as he met her glance. He waved the taxi on as he followed the girl who was wearing a flow-y pink skirt. His Ace would understand if he was a _little_ bit late, wouldn't she?

--

Hours later and forty-five minutes late for meeting his friends, Logan sauntered into the crowded, musky bar. He scrunched his face up at the smell of alcohol and sweat. He surveyed the area for the gang and his two childhood friends, whom he hadn't actually laid eyes on in years. It was loud in there, and, later, he would learn that Colin and Finn were calling his name, but at that moment it all sounded like a buzzing chainsaw. He needed a drink. As he started towards the bar, a pair of beautifully pale, flawless, long legs came into view.

His eyes traveled up until his gaze met navy material just above knee-level. Sudden flashes of those legs wrapped around his waist flooded into his mind and he smirked deviously. He made his way towards the legs—and the girl—and stopped short as she turned around and he met a pair of dazzling blue eyes to match her dress. Someone might as well have kicked him in the chest or doused him in cold water, because his heartstrings tugged and his body temperature dropped drastically. Her smile, a grown up smile he didn't remember, stretched across her no-longer-cherub-but-angular-and-sophisticated face as she recognized him.

She put down the drink she was sipping and rushed towards him, quickly finding her way into his arms. She was talking—always talking—but he didn't hear any of it. He was horrified that he had just been checking her out. He was horrified that he noticed the feel of her breasts smashed against his chest. And he was horrified that he liked the feel of her porcelain smooth arms around his tanned neck. He shouldn't be thinking about his best friend this way.

**Author's Note: A very short chapter, but the next one will be longer. This was more like a filler chapter—it's setting up some stuff for the next one. Reviews please, I'm updating weekly... on Saturdays.**


	4. Watching Me Like You Never Watch No One

Author's Note: Hey, guys, time for another installment

**Author's Note: Hey, guys, time for another installment. Thanks for the reviews they were appreciated. Chapter title and quote come from a Kate Nash song called "Merry Happy." Now, on with the chapter, enjoy.**

**Chapter 3**

**Watching Me Like You Watch No One**

"_**Watching Me Like You Never Watch No One. Don't tell me that you didn't try to check out my bum. Cause I know that you did, cause your friend told me that you liked it."—Kate Nash**_

He smelled like shoe polish. That's what she noticed. She hadn't expected him to… although, she suspected that it wasn't really shoe polish and it was really some kind of old, stale alcohol lingering on his breath and clothes. So, as he sat next to her in the booth, the smell started to make her stomach spin and her head grow light. He was making her nauseated. The hot, stuffy pub did nothing to alleviate her discomfort. So, as she sat in the red pleather chair—the material sticking uncomfortably to her bare thighs—all she could do was sip on her juice-like, alcoholic concoction, occasionally allowing her eyes to drift over to the door expectantly. He was late.

She cringed noticeably as her new acquaintance, the shoe-polish-smelling, loud Australian, barked an obnoxious laugh. He seemed to be regaling an amusing—no doubt alcohol induced—anecdote, which Logan had probably already recapped for her. However, Rory found Finn's side of the story both different from Logan's… and hard to understand.

"So, we were in quite a bingle at this point. Logan, the ol' bastard, and Colin here were down to their grundies while I was already in the nuddy, displaying my old fella for all the lovely Shelias to perve on. Why we stripped off our clothes, I'll never know, because we were all completely off our faces—drinking way too many middies during the rage that was going off. Anyway, so before that, this complete bounce tried to start a blue with us. It turns out that our mate, Logan, had cracked onto his girl and had a total pash with her and he was none too pleased as you can imagine. Anyway, I don't know what got into me—it may have been because my stomach was full of piss—but I decided to give it a burl. You know, get my mate out of whatever blunder he dug himself into. So, a group of barracking fans—mostly Sheilas in their skimpy bathers—followed us out to the back of Bourke, I mean, we walked for ever! Then all of a sudden, I feel a chunder coming on and—"

Rory felt her brain pulse from trying to keep up with Finn and his stories, not completely understanding what he was talking about, and it was too stuffy at that booth for her to try to comprehend his jargon. She let her head fall to her arms folded on the table slightly and the room span again as she felt his warm body hover over hers and his face invade her sanctuary. She could practically feel the stubble on his face brushing against her cheek.

"You're not going to chunder, are you, love?" he asked quietly.

Rory sat up and shook her head. "Nope, I'm fine."

He looked at her hesitantly. "Are you sure, because you look like you're about to cark it."

Rory's temple throbbed, but Steph chimed in before she could respond further. She waved flippantly in her direction and took a sip from her glass. "She's fine, don't worry about it."

She sat awkwardly in her seat next to Colin who just shook his head and grinned. "She just doesn't hold her liquor very well, Finn."

Finn perked up at his statement. "Well, good, that means she'll get pissed easily and she and we can sneak off and have a little naughty in the loo." He stuck out his tongue in her direction and finished off his drink. He looked sourly in his glass. "Root, I need another pint."

Rory sighed. "I'll get it for you; I think I need some air."

Finn scooted out of the booth so she could crawl out of her spot. "Thanks heaps, love. Make sure you don't liquid laugh all over the place when Logan decides to finally lob into our humble boozer."

Rory nodded feebly and felt tons better as she escaped the heat from the booth. Walking across the room towards the bar, she felt instant relief as the cool air returned her temperature to normal and ceased the swimming feeling in her stomach. She leaned against the bar and ordered Finn his drink. As she waited, she felt a breeze float through the room, and for a while, she felt as if someone's eyes were on her. Over the din, she vaguely heard Colin, Finn, and Steph cheer someone's name, so she turned around and met Logan's brown eyes. Leaving behind any sense of nausea—replacing it with a fluttering, excited stomach—she pushed herself away from the bar, skipped over in his direction, and engulfed her old friend in a huge hug, which seemed oddly one-sided. She frowned slightly as his fingers lightly slid onto her back, hesitantly. "Eeek, I can't believe you're here! You're forty-five minutes late, you know!" She pulled back slightly and wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling wickedly. He looked back at her with vacant, thoughtful eyes. "You okay?"

He nodded curtly and gave her a quick smirk before slipping his hands away from her back and gently pulling hers away from his neck. "Yeah, Ace, I'm fine." He looked back over her head towards the group of people smiling brightly at him, raising their drinks in the air at his arrival. He looked back at the, suddenly, unfamiliar creature in front of him and nudged his head in their directions. "Sorry I'm late, lets go." For a split second, he considered grabbing her hand to lead her over towards the booth, but decided that the less physical contact at that moment, the better. So he headed over by himself and trusted that she would follow.

Rory watched him walk for a minute as he made his way over to the table. The small of her back where his fingers used to linger still tingled from his touch, making her shiver. The encounter had confused her and had seemed uncomfortable. She wondered what was wrong. Did she do something? They were fine this morning when he had called to inform her of their plans. He sat down in the booth in Finn's spot—he had gone to retrieve the drink that Rory abandoned. Rory studied his face and his interaction with others. He seemed tense and sulky, and not just with her. It couldn't be something she did. She dismissed it as anxiety from dealing with Mitchum for almost a week and scooted in next to him in the booth.

Finn, realizing his spot had been taken, scowled in annoyance. "And where exactly am I supposed to sit?" he asked in a bratty tone. Rory scooted closer to Logan's body and she felt him tense noticeably. He slid over to the wall as much as he could, which wasn't much. Finn slipped into his seat making Rory feeling Closter phobic from being squished between two guys. She hunched her shoulders, trying to make herself narrower. During her movements, she accidentally grazed Logan's hand and he flinched away from her. Her head whipped in his direction in surprise. What had gotten into him?

Logan was in some kind of Hell. When he walked away from her, he had planned on having Finn scoot out, but he had also planned for Finn to slide immediately back in—to act as a barrier. Instead, he went to go get some forgotten drink, which allowed Rory to sit next to him. He really didn't want to be near her at that moment. The hug, that stupid hug, for some reason, it had completely turned him on. Just a simple hug had made his temperature soar and blood rush to certain areas. He had half a mind to just walk out of the bar to try and cool down, because Hades had to be cooler than where he was sitting right now.

Just when he thought matters couldn't get any worse, Finn decided to turn the two-person seat into a snug, three-person one—sufficiently plastering Rory against his side. He scooted as far as he could towards the fake, wooden-paneled wall. He was acutely aware of every movement she made. Her cold fingers grazed overtop his sweaty ones, startling him into withdrawing his hand quickly. She looked at him like he had lost his mind, so he closed his eyes, desperately trying to calm himself down.

But eliminating his sense of sight only seemed to make his other senses more aware. Her thigh against his seemed to burn slowly, making him itch from the material of his pants—which were suddenly seeming way too tight. He could smell a sugary sweet scent radiating off her body—tangerines. The smell was making him sick and made his heart beat faster at the same time. The collar around his throat was constricting, and his mouth felt intensely dry. He wanted to just shove Finn out of the booth and make him sit next to Steph and Colin, who were chattering on excessively. However, to his relief, Finn seemed to bore easily from his brooding silence, and Rory's uncomfortable position, so he soon vacated his spot no doubt to scope for women.

Instinctively Rory moved away from him, and it dawned on him that she noticed his cold demeanor. He felt one thing—shame—shame for making her feel weird, but mostly for thinking about her in such a… non-Rory way. At that moment, all he wanted to do was sneak out of the Pub and drown out his non-platonic thoughts. Just as he was thinking about asking Rory to move out so he could leave, he noticed her crossing her legs under the table. He closed his eyes as a wave of pleasure surged throughout his body. As gross as it seemed, he enjoyed how she looked, now. Maybe his dad was right—maybe he was a sex addict.

But everyone had to notice that she wasn't the same gangly, skinny Rory Gilmore that she used to be. She had filled out and had grown into her, then, awkward features. He wondered briefly if Colin was having similar thoughts, but he noticed that he was completely at ease in conversation with a slightly drunk Stephanie—who, ironically, looked exactly the same. He just wished she'd stop staring at him.

Rory slumped down in her seat and stole various glances at Logan. He was avoiding eye contact with her and it was troublesome. She contemplated initiating some kind of conversation with him, but the air was thick with some kind of tension, so she thought it best to wait for it to clear. Instead, she studied his face. His face, she noticed, had aged the most since she had last seen him. Before, he had had a boyish gleam to all of his features—wide-eyed, and rosy cheeks. What was also boyish about him before had been his skinny body. Though he had always been tall and lean, he now possessed muscles that seemed to harden him. She had felt them briefly through his clothes during their quick hug. His face was hardened, too—maybe it was partly from the tan from his yachting adventure. Currently, his face was cemented in a frown, occasionally clenching and unclenching his jaw furiously. He was thinking, that much was clear. Rory almost laughed at her attention to his details—it was the reporter in her, really. But it was mostly his silence that caused her to psycho analyze him. One thing she knew about Logan was that when he was upset he liked to brood silently.

"Isn't that right, Rory?" Steph asked suddenly, breaking her train of thought.

"What?" she asked, earnestly.

Steph giggled in her inebriated state. "That Tristan caaaaallllllleeeeedddddd you this morning," she allowed her words to draw out awkwardly, causing her tone to become whiny. She turned back to Colin and poked him in the nose, he grinned madly at her. "He had the nerve to call her and ask for his stuff back."

Rory's face reddened slightly from embarrassment. "Yeah, he called," she said, shortly. She picked up her previously abandoned drink and took a large gulp—deciding that it was necessary, now.

The mention of Tristan's name snapped Logan out of his contemplative stupor. "Why would he ask for his stuff back?" He looked over at Rory who was slumped down in her seat with her arms crossed, looking very small.

Steph, in her loud, drunken manner, decided to fill him in on the details. "She still has some of his stuff from the breakup."

Logan gnashed his teeth together and clenched his fist under the table. His protective streak for his friend overrode his previous sullied thoughts about her. His head snapped over to Rory again and he looked down at her. She looked up at him with her big, blue eyes and he feared becoming undone again, so he returned his glance towards Steph. "They broke up?"

Steph nodded and cocked her head to the side in confusion. "It was at the end of the school year. She didn't tell you?"

"No, I didn't tell him," she snapped at her talkative friend, "and you knew that."

Steph giggled wildly. "Oh, right, sorry." She grinned cattily as she sipped on the straw poking out of her drink.

Logan sighed and drooped down to match Rory's position. "So, since you're broken up, can I punch him in the nose now?"

Rory smiled as, finally, whatever wall he had put up earlier came crashing down.

**Author's Note: Okay, so it's not longer than the last chapter, but they'll get longer soon. Not the next chapter, but the one after that the rating will change to M… so be prepared for that. In three chapters, it will turn VERY M… just so you know. Hope you enjoyed it—reviews make me work harder.**


	5. Just Smile, Things Are Going Our Way

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, guys

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, guys. Here's the next installment. Chapter title and quote are from a song called "Vanilla Rain" by Alexa Wilkinson. Kind of a filler chapter again, pretty fluffy, actually. However, the next chapter will not be… and the rating will go up to M…. **

**So, I would set your alerts.**

**:P **

**Chapter Four**

**Just Smile, Cause Things Are Going Our Way**

"_**Never been so let go, never been so composed, from my fingers to my toes, I'm calling out. Never been so advised and I finally realized from the tele to my room, I feel it, too. Spin me 'round like a child, I need some to satisfy. My arms are open wide, because I miss you on a Sunday. Just smile, because things are going our way."**_

"D'oh, she cried, getting down on her knees to pick up the spare change that spilled all over the ground as she tried to pay the guy at the coffee kiosk. She tried to pinch the smooth coins between her fingers and grew frustrated as they only slid around the ground—her fingers chasing after them. Obviously, whoever came up with the design of coins, did not anticipate moments like this. After successfully picking up four of the fifty-thousand coins she dropped, she simply sat down on her knees and stared at the offending pieces of metal with a scowl on her face. She was so far gone in her concentration that she didn't notice a figure crouch down next to her until he spoke.

"This would definitely qualify as a cute meeting if we hadn't already met," Logan deadpanned, reaching out to help her with her situation.

Rory jumped at the sound of his voice, startling her into continuing her gathering. "Oh, hey, Logan," she mumbled, rolling her eyes as she noticed how easily he was able to pick up the coins.

"Are we going after the ones that rolled? I think I saw some heading off towards the bushes," she looked over at him; he was smiling, only he would enjoy this.

"Only if you're going after them," she shot back, annoyance evident in her voice.

Logan laughed at her crankiness. "Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"I haven't had my coffee, as you can tell, so I'm in no mood for morning people like yourself," she snapped.

He stood up as he successfully gathered up his share of the coins. She mimicked his motions and stuck her purse out for him to dump the coins back in the purse. He glanced into her bag and shook his head. "You just leave them in there randomly?"

She shrugged, swinging the bag over her shoulder. "What else am I supposed to do with them?"

He copied her shrug, mocking her, and shook his head. "I don't know, I guess I imagined that you used some kind of change purse."

She rolled her eyes and walked over towards the coffee cart again. "Do I look eighty?"

A smile crept across his face as he contemplated his answer. She scowled and reached for her bag. He stopped her. "I need to get you coffee so you can get your sense of humor back." He reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet.

She furrowed her brows in protest. "No, you're not paying for my coffee."

"I'm not doing it for you, I'm doing it to protect the good students of Yale. I can't risk you whipping that thing out again." He motioned to her bag. He paid the vendor after ordering a cup for himself and handed one over to Rory as well. "Plus, this way, I don't have to wait in that gigantic line."

Rory took her cup and glared at him. "Coffee's not in my system, yet, Bubb."

He smiled and walked next to her in silence as they strolled through the Quad. This was nice. At first, after the night at the pub almost two weeks ago, he had thought he was royally screwed when it came to his friendship with Rory. But after her small revelations on her breakup with one, Tristan Dugrey, his protective streak had taken over… seemingly overriding whatever insanity was plaguing his mind that night.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if that was the only information he had gotten on the subject of their infamous breakup. He wanted more details… even if he was pretty certain about the issues involved—knowing Tristan. He had never liked Tristan—even before he started dating his best friend. Growing up, they had always been rivals people constantly compared the two. It didn't help that their fathers encouraged it—disliking each other as well. It was as if they got swept up in their fathers' feud and soon they only argued for the sake of arguing. That is, until Logan caught Tristan in a compromising position days before his father shipped him off to boarding school.

Although originally intending to tell Rory about everything, Tristan had convinced him that telling Rory would only hurt her. Logan didn't want that, so he foolishly obliged—sparing his best friend's feelings. At the time, she was already having a hard time losing him to Europe… she didn't need to lose her boyfriend at the same time. Now, Logan was calculating subtle ways to broach the subject, ways to pry without angering her. He needed to know if he needed to take a trip down to New Jersey to break Tristan's nose.

Walking in silence, Rory chewed on her bottom lip, holding the steaming cup of coffee in her hand. She was nervous… even though she knew there was nothing to be nervous about. This was Logan, her Logan, her best friend. This fluttering erupting inside of her had to cease, because it was just making her feel stupid. She cursed Stephanie for her constant harassment involving her previous feelings for him, because it seemed as if they were resurfacing despite her attempted repressing. She found herself concentrating on her walking, so she wouldn't accidentally bump into him—making unnecessary contact. She didn't think that her system would be able to handle that. So she stood a good two feet away from him, only occasionally throwing him uneasy glances which he seemed oblivious to. He only smiled, so she smiled, too, because everything seemed to be going fine. He hadn't seemed distant or awkward since that night at the bar, so she brushed it off quickly as Mitchum issues.

However, at the moment, she was feeling awkward. She felt the need for some kind of conversation to flow, before she brought up something that would make her seem like an idiot to him. Over the phone and through emails were so much easier—face-to-face contact was so overrated. "So, you have yet to regale me of your latest, notorious stories from Fiji."

In the corner of her eye, she noticed his face light up and his smile widen. He enjoyed telling her stories about his adventures. She guessed it was because of her enthusiastic responses—she 'ooh-ed,' 'aw-ed,' and gasped at all the appropriate moments. And it wasn't that she placated him. The enjoyment was reciprocal. Logan was a great storyteller—mostly because he got so into it… and because his stories were usually outrageous seeing as they were Finn-filled. "Ah," he smirked broadly, his eyes crinkling up from his stretched grin, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to save those for another time, because we have another, more pressing matter to attend to."

Rory raised her eyebrows and sat down on a nearby bench. "And that would be…?"

He plopped down next to her and sighed. He leaned in close to her ear, which caused her to frown, but she remained rooted to her spot. "The Queen's birthday is approaching."

Rory laughed and leaned her head back—elongating her already long neck. Logan swore he could see all of her teeth. "Oh, yeah," she groaned, "she would be expecting a party." He took a sip from his coffee and winced as the hot liquid burnt his tongue. She laughed noticing his discomfort. She turned towards him and put her hand on his shoulder. "Oh… are you okay?"

He coughed and nodded his head—waving her off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Don't distract me. Now, about Steph's birthday party…"

"Will require extensive planning."

"Yes, now, I'm wondering, should we even bother with trying to make it a surprise?" He looked over at Rory and noticed her taking a thick folder out of her bag. "What is that?"

"This," she said, motioning to the folder in her hands, "is Steph's birthday party suggestions."

He took the folder from her and weighed it in his hands. "I'm terrified of this folder…. Why don't we just let her plan it?" She took the folder back and stuffed it back in her bag. "Good thinking, out of sight, out of mind."

"To answer your question, Steph isn't going to let anyone help plan this party. I just need to find a venue."

"Colin and Finn's place is fine. Finn tends to be more careful when he's breaking his own stuff… and Colin keeps him in line."

Rory nodded, having experienced enough of Finn to know that precautionary measures were necessary. "Alright, but I don't know if I want to experience Steph and Colin arguing about the decorations that go up in his apartment."

Logan shrugged, taking another go at his coffee. "I don't know, they seem to be getting along lately." Rory gave him a pointed stare. "Well… better than usual." She looked down at her cup of coffee. Logan followed her forlorn gaze and noticed how thick her eyelashes were. He found himself staring, and quickly looked away when she looked back up. "So…" He sighed, figuring out the best way to transition into the uncomfortable conversation.

"So…" she trailed.

"You and Tristan…"

Her breath hitched at the mention of his name. Usually, someone mentioning his name made her angry, but at the moment, all she felt was stupid. "What about him?"

Her tone was standoffish; it was evident that this was not her favorite topic, but he felt the need to pursue gathering information—Rory wasn't the type of girl that talked about things that bothered her. Evasion was her specialty. He leaned forward, his forearm resting just above his knees. He looked over at her with a serious face. "Why didn't you tell me that you guys broke up?" His voice was low, husky almost.

Rory shrugged, not looking at him in the eye. "It just… didn't seem important."

Logan shook his head and chuckled. "You don't think that's important?"

Her eyes flicked over to him in annoyance. "It's not important to you, it's none of your business."

He held his arms up in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just worried about you, okay? I just need to know if I have to go over to Princeton on a castration mission."

She turned her body toward him, agitated. "Do you really want to know what happened?" she asked raising her voice.

"I really want to know what happened."

"He cheated on me." She surveyed his face, waiting for the words to gauge a reaction, but she didn't get one. His face remained still, indifferent, unsurprised. Realization dawned on her. She rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. "Great, you're not surprised. I'm the only one who didn't see this was coming, I'm an idiot."

Logan's face remained stoic. Annoyed, she stood up to leave, but he reached up and pulled her back down in her seat. "Ace," he whined, keeping hold of her arm, "you're not an idiot, Tristan's the idiot."

Rory scoffed. "Yeah, he's just the one who managed to have two girlfriends for almost a year. Do you know that he's still _with_ her?"

Logan shook his head. "I just found out the details a few seconds ago, Ace."

She huffed. "Well, he is, but it doesn't bother me." She shook her head bitterly. "Nope, because it's his loss… at least that's what everyone keeps telling me." Logan frowned and picked up her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, and squeezing. "It's just so humiliating, especially in front of you. I'm so stupid," she mumbled.

Logan took his other hand and propped up her chin. He ran his thumb along her jaw-line. "You, Rory Gilmore-Hayden, are anything but stupid."

She locked eyes with him and felt the fluttering bombarding her stomach again. Her face heated up from his uncharacteristically, intimate gesture. His warm, brown eyes scanned her face, and he licked his lips quickly. The intensity of the moment made her break eye contact which seemed to free him from his stupor. He cleared his throat and let go of her chin—looking down at the ground as well. "Well," he said, moving on from the moment, "I'll be sure to talk to Colin and Finn about the party arrangements for the princess." He winked at her and stood up, walking away, leaving her on the bench. She watched as he disappeared, and touched her chin with her fingers where his used to be. This crush had to go.

**Author's Note: Reminder, next chapter is M… which will be up next Saturday… Reviews, please. :D **


	6. I Want to Feel to Know That I’m Alive

Author's Note: Gah

**Author's Note: Gah! I forgot yesterday was Saturday… whoops… So, thanks for the reviews, guys… I'd kind of like more constructive ones… but beggars can't be choosers, I guess. The rating is up to M. By the way, just picture Rory's outfit like the one she wore in "Partings," I'm not good at describing clothing. Quote and chapter title is from the song "Angels on the Moon" by Thriving Ivory.**

**Chapter 5**

**I Want to Feel Just to Know That I'm Alive**

_**Do you care, about all the little things or anything at all?  
I wanna feel, all the chemicals inside I wanna feel  
I wanna sunburn, just to know that I'm alive  
To know I'm alive**_

Needless to say, she was mad. Actually, mad was an understatement, she was _livid_. All she could do was fume as she practically stomped in the dark—dressed up in a ridiculous, red, English, swinging sixties getup that Steph had picked out for her the day before—as she made her way through the campus to Colin and Finn's dorm. Steph was trailing behind her, cautiously, and for a split second, Rory felt bad that she was semi-ruining her party. Then she remembered the aggressive conversation she had with her ex-boyfriend not twenty minutes ago and became completely self-obsorbed again. Never had she madder at him, not even when she had caught him—then, she had felt only hurt. Now, she honestly couldn't see what she ever saw in him.

She felt Steph catch up to her and anticipated her touch, which came in the form of grabbing her arm, and pulling her over to a corner. She turned to look at her blonde friend with exasperated eyes. Steph looked back at her, tight-lipped, and sympathetic—since she had overheard the entire encounter. Rory laughed in spite of herself at Steph's outfit. She wore a tight, sequined-covered, Union Jack printed, minidress and a tiara on her head—she was channeling some kind of sexed up, Queen costume. Steph's worried face increased at Rory's sudden laughter, causing Rory to frown again. She looked down at the ground and bit her lip, feeling tears starting to wellup in her eyes. She wiped at them furiously with her forearm and looked up, trying to will them back inside.

"Rory," Steph coaxed, running her hand up and down her arm reassuringly, "You need to calm down."

Rory sniffed, feeling her frame tremble slightly from her rushing emotions—anger, hurt, jealousy. She brushed the fake, blonde hair away from her eyes and smiled weakly at her friend. "You're right, I'm sorry."

Steph's lip twitched upwards slowly. "You don't have to be sorry, just… pull yourself together. You're going to a party, my party to be exact. You need to loosen up… and just forget about Tristan, remember?"

Rory nodded, still shaken. She took a breath and felt a hundred times more relaxed—or, at least she told herself she did. "I'm good now."

Steph smiled and grabbed Rory's hand. "Good, now, we'll just get you a drink to help erase that photographic memory of yours."

Rory laughed and allowed her friend to drag her towards the noise that was already polluting the air a block away.

--

Logan watched in annoyance at the scene in front on him. He sipped bitterly on his scotch and waited for the moment where he'd intervene. This wasn't how his Ace usually acted, and he was worried. He was almost certain that when she had arrived at the party two hours ago upset, it had been because of Tristan. Her eyes had been glossy from unshed tears and her voice was a register too low. Ever since then, he had been watching her closely without her knowledge, because that would surely annoy her. She'd been drinking.

It had started with the drinks that Steph had forced in her hands, but soon, she was seeking out her own liquor—which she was horrible at holding, anyway. He was just about to go over and cut her off when Robert, a friend of Colin's, had approached her with another one and a smirk on his face. Rory greated him in a friendly manner, taking the drink from him and smiling brightly—stupidly. Logan clenched his jaw, knowing exactly why Robert was being so friendly to his inebriated friend. He excused himself from his date, Whitney—who had been chattering on excessively without him listening for a while now—and approached the suspicious scene. Rory turned to him, passed her drink off to Robert without drinking from it, and threw her arms around his neck. "LOGAN!!" she exclaimed, throwing herself at him so forcefully that she knocked the wind out of him.

As she draped herself over his frame, Logan kept steady eye contact with a disapointed Robert who looked like a child that had been caught sneaking cookies from the cookie jar. Robert smirked at Logan, feigning innocence—causing Logan to narrow his eyes. "Hey, Logan, how's it going?"

Logan matched his smug face. "Just fine, Robert. Been looking after my friend here?" he asked, snidely.

Robert shrugged, not backing down from his nice-guy façade. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

Rory giggled. "Loggie, woggie, woe, Robby here brought me a drink!" She gestured vaguely toward Robert.

Logan frowned again as Rory leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. "Well, that was really great of you, buddy, but I think I'm just going to take her home now."

Robert furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to argue. "Actually, I thought that I—"

Logan shook his head. "Nah, I got this, but could you do me a favor?" Robert wore a face of disgust at the thought of helping Logan out at this moment. Logan nodded in the direction of Whitney. "Could you tell my date that I had to get going?" Logan smiled, noting that his trade off had worked spectacularly. Robert smirked and eyed Whitney hungrily, forgetting all about his Ace.

Logan patted him on the shoulder and started to lead Rory towards the door, which was slightly difficult, because she was kind of like dead weight at the moment. He was cut off by a worried looking Colin. "Do you need some help there?" he asked like the father figure he was.

Rory livened up at seeing her friend and flung her arms around his neck like she did to Logan. "Colin, I missed you!" She clung onto his body with a vice-grip. "And I don't care what Steph says, you so don't have a stick up you're a—"

"So, are you taking her home?" Colin asked, interupting her drunken rambling.

Logan nodded. "I just need to find her keys…" he looked down at her outfit and furrowed his brow. She didn't seem to have any pockets. He ran his hands down her side, searching for one.

She broke away from both of the boys in a fit of giggles. She grapsed Logan's hands in hers and swayed in her spot. She shook her head rapidly. "Nope, not there." She wrapped her arms around his neck again and burrowed her face in his chest—leaning against him for support.

"Ace," he breathed against her hair, "where are your keys?"

He felt her shake her head against him. "I left them at that place that one time."

Logan looked up at Colin who shrugged. He was so helpful. "I guess I'll just bring her back to my place."

Colin nodded. "Sounds good, do you mind if I just…" He motioned towards the raging party behind them and Logan nodded.

"Yeah, no sense in both of us not getting laid tonight." He smirked suggestively at him and Colin laughed nervously before turning back to the crowd of dancing and drunk people. Logan sighed and looked over at an exhausted Rory. He decided that dragging her through the Yale campus would take too much effort, so he bent down and picked her up so he could fireman carry her. The things he did for that girl.

--

By the time they reached his appartment, Rory had gotten a second wind in her silly drunkenness. She was currently babbling randomely at him from her position over his shoulder. He just rolled his eyes as she asked more and more strange questions. "So, how many girls have you slept with, _exactly_?"

Logan hopped slightly, shifting Rory back onto his shoulder firmly as he crouched down to unlock his door. "Alright, I think that's enough questions from you," he said in a patronizing manner as the lock on his door clicked open. He opened the door, walked in, and removed Rory from his aching shoulder. He rubbed his neck, trying to alieviate his soreness.

Rory took off her floppy, red hat and ash-blonde wig, shaking her chestnut locks free, and tossed them onto his pool table. She slumped against the edge of the table and folded her arms across her chest. He smiled at her from his spot and leaned against the back of his couch. "I don't see why you won't just answer the question." She was smirking wickedly. She walked towards him, staggering slightly, and stood in front of him.

Logan shook his head. "Because, frankly, darling, it's none of your business," he quipped.

Her smiled remained plastered on her face as she swayed slightly. "Why is it, then, that's it apparently my business when girls come up to me and ask me if you're really as good as everyone says?"

Her arms had snaked around his neck once again and Logan felt the color drain from his face. "Who asks you that?" he asked in a low voice, still smiling, finding her strange boldness funny.

She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling. "Oh, just a bunch of your potential bedmates who seem to think that I have first-hand experience." She pressed her body flush against his. He tried to back up, but he hit the back of the couch again, allowing her to effectively corner him. Her face inched closer to his and he struggled not to laugh. He found drunk, forward Rory rather hilarious. She shook her head at him. "But I have just about as much info on the illusive Logan Huntzberger's sex life as any other girl in a skirt… some of them have more."

Logan ran his right hand down the side of her body. He was slightly drunk himself, and his buzz was censoring any warning signs from his brain. If he had had a clear head, he would have moved away from her a long time ago… but right now, everything seemed so funny… he had to see where crazy Rory would take her heavy flirting. "You know enough," he said vaguely.

Suddenly her face became very serious and her eyes surveyed his features. Her breathing became heavier, her one hand slid up to the side of his face, and her thumb outlined his lower lip. He watched her intently, curious as to what she was doing. She inhaled and exhaled slowly before returning her hands to the back of his head, running them through his hair, slightly. "I just…" she said, hesitantly, "wanted to know what it was like…."

Before he had a chance to decipher what her words meant, she pulled his head towards hers forcefully, and crashed her lips against his. All thoughts of her cuteness at her attempts at seduction drained from his mind as his heart lept in a rush. He was shocked, at first, but as the feelings he had first encountered a couple of weeks at the pub resurfaced, all rational thought vacated his brain along with all the blood. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her petite frame and clung to her hungrily. She tightened her grip on his neck and began to nibble on his bottom lip. He groaned at the sensation and she giggled at the vibrations from his sound.

Without him realizing it, she brought them over to his bed that was a couple of feet away. The back of his knees hit the mattress and he fell down into the covers. She followed soon after and crawled up his body to reach his lips, capturing them eagerly. She moved her hips against his rappidly growing errection and he moaned at the sensation. "Fuck," he cursed as her thigh grazed against his dick. His mind was lost in a lust-filled fog, not truly registering his actions as his hands wandered down his Ace's body. He paused at the area where her ridden up skirt ended, and he ran his hands over the globe of her ass and squeezed roughly. She gasped against his lips as he did this and pulled her tighter against his errection. He thrusted against her forcefully causing a wave of pleasure to corse through him and causing her to cry out in joy. She wriggled against him and he began kissing down her neck.

He didn't know what had gotten over him as some kind of monster took over his movements. He repeated his previous movements and set a steady rhythm, which she matched enthusiastically. He sucked and laved on the pulse point on her neck as the pressure built up inside of him from their gyrations. He felt the heat swell around them, and was about to dispose himself of some of his clothing when he felt her hands press against his chest. "Oh my God," she groaned as she pushed herself off him, clamped a hand over her mouth, and ran towards the bathroom… apparently to hurl.

With the absense of her warm body, realization about what just happened began to register in his mind. He looked at his hands, which had just been gropping her madly only seconds before, in horror. Panic began to replace the lust that had been coursing through his body and he felt a twinge of guilt. What had he just done? At the sounds of emptying herself, he rushed out of bed, into the bathroom to hold her hair back as she was bent over the toilet. As she emptied the contents of her stomach—his own stomach full of regret—he sat on the cold tile wondering how he was going to fix what he just did.

**Author's Note: The next chapter will be more M… this was just slightly. Sorry for the wait… reviews?**


	7. Drop Your Jaw and Coax Me

Author's Note: Here's the next installment

**Author's Note: So, the Saturday thing isn't working. I'm just shooting for once a week, now… I'll TRY Saturdays… but sometimes I forget. :) Sorry I didn't update last week—I was out of town. Here's the next installment… enjoy… The quote and title is from a Cute Is What We Aim For song called **_**There's A Class For This**_**. Very dirty chapter…. Enjoy? **

**Chapter 6**

**Drop Your Jaw and Coax Me**

"_**This is a sticky situation, so you can drop your jaw and coax me." –Cute Is What We Aim For**_

_He was waiting for her—in an office he had been in many times, but never in this situation. He sat in his large, leather and mahogany swivel chair in front of a Buick-sized desk and just twiddled his thumbs in anticipation. He was facing the window, watching the students below in the quad enjoy the sunny day ahead of them now that their finals were finally over. He rocked steadily in his seat. Well, they were over for all but one student. He chuckled at the thought, closing his eyes, picturing the future vividly in his mind. _

_"Headmaster Huntzberger?" whispered a familiar voice. He hadn't even heard her come in—her footsteps apparently deafly silent to the World. _

_His eyes flew open and he felt his stomach clench in excitement. He whirled around in his chair—just like in the movies—and smirked wickedly at her. Her brunette head was cocked to the side in confusion, her brilliantly blue eyes wide in curiosity. He surveyed her outfit—noting her knee-high, navy blue socks; mid-thigh, seersucker skirt; and white blouse, which was unbuttoned, revealing only a hint of cleavage. Her eye makeup was heavy with liner, making her irises pop with color, and her hair was down and curly—sex kitten bangs reaching down to her eyebrows. She stood in front of him nervously, waiting for him to stop ogling her, and to give her instructions. "Miss Gilmore-Hayden," he said, huskily, "have a seat." He motioned to the chair that wasn't there before and had apparently magically appeared in front of his desk moments ago. _

_Rory took a seat and smoothed out the pleats in her skirt. He watched her as she chewed on her bottom lip, nervously. "Am I in trouble, Headmaster?"_

_He chuckled at her again and shook his head. "No, not in trouble, it's just time for your final exam," he informed her, quirking an eyebrow in the process. _

_A smiled crept over her face as well as she understood what he meant. "But I haven't studied, Headmaster." _

_He crooked a finger at her, motioning her to come over to his side of the desk. "That's alright, Miss Gilmore-Hayden, I'll be happy to coach you through it." She got up obediently and stood to his right, looking down at him. He smirked noting the dark pools of lust that were her eyes. He turned his chair so he was facing her dead-on. "On your knees, please." She did as she was told, and he noticed his rather prominent erection showing through his loose slacks. She inched closer to him, bracing her hands against his legs, running her fingers over his heated thighs. His pants grew tighter and he squirmed in his seat. Noticing his discomfort, she reached for the fly of his pants and slowly unbuttoned and unzipped him. _

_He lifted his ass off his seat as she pulled both his pants and boxers—springing his massive cock from its confounds. She gasped loudly at his size. "Oh, Headmaster, it's so big!" Her eyes were wide and she looked up at him, looking for him to urge her to go forward. He grunted in response and thrust his hips forward, aching for her touch. She pulled his clothing the rest of the way off his legs and threw them to the side. Then, she carefully grasped his dick in her hands, feeling it throb in her palm. He groaned in appreciation. She gripped tightly at his base and pumped her fist up and down—tightly at the bottom, loosely at the top, swirling his pre-cum around at the tip onto the rest of his elongated penis. _

_After about a minute of her slow torture, he began thrusting into her hand—causing her to let go. He groaned in frustration, gasping when her hand returned to his base and she brought her lips to his shaft—leaving light kisses along his length. When she reached his tip, she slipped her tongue out of her mouth and swirled it against his opening. He put his hands in her hair, urging her to take him into her mouth. She obeyed, taking only some of him inside—sucking lightly. He bit his bottom lip, trying to hold on for later. Just as he thought he couldn't take her teasing any longer, she took his entire length into her mouth and started bobbing her head slowly. "Fuck," he cursed, relishing in the warmth that surrounding his hardened member. She began to bob her head faster and faster and he felt his dick start to convulse. "Enough!" he growled, pulling her up by her arms. _

_He stood up from his chair and placed her on his—now—empty desk. He divested himself of his shoes, socks, and the remaining clothing on his torso—leaving him completely naked in her presence. She crossed her legs together, feebly, but he quickly spread them, snaking his hands up her porcelain thighs. He yanked at her soaking wet panties, and she lifted her lower body so he could dispose of them quickly. He took off her socks, shoes, and white blouse as well—leaving her only in her short skirt and a royal blue bra. He lay down on top of her, placing a bruising kiss on her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck as well as her legs around his waist—gyrating against his hard cock. _

_His mouth traveled to her long neck, sucking lightly in various places as he made his way down to her pulse point. He laved and sucked on it roughly, making sure he left a mark. She let out a frustrated moan as she thrust up against him. "Patience, Miss Gilmore-Hayden," he murmured against her skin. She groaned and gasped as he brought his fingers down to play with her core. She sighed in content at his addition and he continued his ministrations. _

_From her neck, he moved down to the skin between her chests, using his free hand to massage her right one. "Oh, God," she sighed. He smiled against her skin and moved over to her left breast, inching the thin material of her bra down with his chin, to suck on her puckered nipple. She inhaled sharply as he bit down and quickly moved her hands to the back of his head. He laved at her breast with his tongue and sucked as her hands ran through his hair. After a minute, his hand and mouth switched positions so he could work on her other breast. She began to shiver from his touch, so he removed his hands from the places they were working on and ran them under her so he was cupping her butt. He turned her over so she was face-down on the desk—her chest pressed against the surface—her legs and ass where hanging over the edge. _

_He ran his hands over the swell of her ass, and positioned himself in front of her opening. She arched her back in anticipation—as impatient as always—and he thrust his entire cock inside of her at once. She yelped in surprise and he gripped her hips to keep her steady. He moved in and out of her slowly, laughing when he heard her whimper and grip the sides of the desk. "Fuck, Rory," he grunted as he sped up. She was so tight, so warm; it was driving him crazy as he thrashed inside of her for a release. _

_As he rocked her back and forth, her breasts rubbed against the wooden desk. He found it hard to keep her steady, so he removed his shaft from her sex—causing her to freeze. He picked her up, turned around so he was sitting on the edge of the desk, and brought her up onto his lap. She went down on him and his hips went in tandem with her bounces. She buried her head in the crook of his neck and bit down on his shoulder—wrapping her arms around his back tightly, leaving marks. _

_Soon, he heard her cry out his name and her walls clamped down around him—she shuddered in his arms. He muttered a curse and elicited a swift thrust upward, bringing him to his peak. He rode her until his feelings of euphoria dissipated and his heartbeat slowed down dramatically. He let go of her so he could brace himself against the desk and she slid off him. She returned to his embrace and kissed him fully on the mouth. Breathless, he released her lips and she leaned her forehead against his. "So," she said with a smirk mirroring his infamous one, "do I pass?"_

He shot up quickly like a shock to his system in horror. "Fuck," he muttered, taking in the surroundings of his apartment, his current sleeping place—a chair that was next to his bed where his best friend was currently sleeping soundly—and the strenuous tugging in his pants where he obvious erection protruded, creating a tent-like illusion. His eyes trailed over her curled up, sleeping form—her closed long lashes, her auburn hair spilling out over his pillow, and the curve of her hip, which he yearned to run his hands down. He swallowed the saliva that had filled up in his mouth as he watched her stir slightly.

He jumped up out of his chair quickly, leaving her in bed, and making his way to his bathroom. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he cursed, bracing himself against the marble, bathroom sink. He wiped his hands over his tired face—having hardly gotten any sleep the night before. His thoughts were too consumed with guilt and worry about what he had done the night before—or, almost done… if you could call what they did doing anything.

As the memories of his hands gripping her waist, breasts, and anything else he could get his hands on came flooding back into his mind, he groaned audibly, stuck his head under the nozzle of the sink, and turned the cold water on. He sighed in relief as the heat left his head and the rest of his body. He reached over to the soup dispenser and piled some into his hands, so he could wash his face off. When he was finished, he grabbed a washcloth to dry his face off—looking into the mirror, he appraised that he looked less like a zombie.

He walked over to the door of the bathroom—still not ready to go back out there… to talk to her. Hopefully, she was still asleep and he could somehow slip out after leaving her some aspirin on the nightstand or something. He grimaced at his blatant cowardly behavior. No, he would actually have to face her… if she was still there when he came back in. He opened the door slowly—silently. What he saw caused him to wince and withdraw quickly—Rory's bareback over by his closet, apparently slipping on one of his tee shirts in place of her red outfit from last night.

He breathed deeply as he rested his head against the wooden door. He quickly walked over to the sink and stuck his head under for the water for the second time that morning.

--

Her eyes fluttered open as the sunlight started to pour in from the panned windows… panned windows? She sat up straight, astonished not to be in her own bed, and groaned in frustration as that was obviously the wrong move to make. Her head pounded steadily and she found herself lying back down on the pillow. She relaxed slightly as it registered that she was in Logan's apartment…. in his bed. She spotted an easy chair placed strategically by the foot of the bed—signally that that was where he had spent the night. She suddenly noticed that her best friend was nowhere to be seen.

She, reluctantly got up from the bed, gingerly, and made her way over to his closet. He wouldn't mind if she stole one of his shirts in place of her currently smelly attire. She unzipped the top of her costume, discarded it on the floor, picked out a blue Yale tee shirt from Logan's closet, and slipped it on over her head. She also retrieved a pair of boxers from his dresser.

After she was dressed, she walked over to the counter in the kitchen section of his studio apartment. She sat down on one of his bar stools and leaned her head against the cool granite to alleviate the excessive stabbing occurring in her head. She closed her eyes, only to open them again as she heard the bathroom door open. She looked up, as Logan emerged, slowly—cautiously—still sporting his costume from last night, though it was rumpled. She noticed the uneasy look on his face. "Hey," she greeted in a scratchy voice. She sat up slightly—propping her head up with her hand—as she noticed his Adam's apple bob up and down.

"Hey," he replied in a low, barely audible voice. He inched closer to her, came feet away from her, and then took a round-a-bout route to the other side of the kitchen island. He opened a few cabinets, looking around for something, and finally found it. He took out a bottle of Aspirin and slid it over to where Rory was sitting. She tried to smile, but would it painful, so she winced. Logan was leaning against the counter, supporting himself at arms-length, looking down at the floor—tapping his fingers against the surface of the counter.

She watched him while she uncapped the container and dry-swallowed two pills. The remained blanketed in silence until Rory couldn't take the tapping of his fingers any longer. "Did I do anything embarrassing last night?"

For the first time that morning, he looked her in the eyes. A myriad of emotions flickered over Logan's face in the course of ten seconds—most of which seemed unjustified. She opened her mouth to inquire further into his strange behavior, his off demeanor, but he cut her off. "Well," he coughed, "you _did_ almost go home with Robert last night."

Rory's mouth hung open as Logan smiled slight at her reaction. "I did _what_?"

"Yeah," he said calmly, "you were hanging all over him…"

Rory groaned and laid her head back down on the counter, hiding her reddening face from her best friend. "Lucky you were there to cease any further indecent behavior."

"Yeah," Logan said in a low voice, "lucky." She heard him walk over to the living room area of the studio apartment to sit down on the couch and watch some TV.

**Author's Note: I'll try to update on Saturday… REVIEWS, REVIEWS, REVIEWS!! The more I get, the more motivation I have to update on time!**


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